The Dead Mailman Incident
by Nothingatall11
Summary: "Technically, he was already dead" Mitchell mentions, as he pokes the body on the carpet with his foot.


**Warning: Slash George/Mitchell. Very light though.  
Comment: I wrote this when I was REALLY tired. It is probably very weird^^;**

"_Well?"  
_"Well what?"  
"Are you going to explain this anytime soon?"

George was getting hysterical.  
Not that he didn't get hysterical often, yesterday he had thrown a fit over the fact that they had no mushrooms in the fridge when he was making Pizza. And before that there had been the marmalade-throwing incident. Mitchell had been forced to buy a new pair of shoes after that one. So by now he should really be used to it.  
But this time, Mitchell had to admit, George had good reason to panic.

"Whats going on?" Annie stands in the doorway, a cup of tea in her hand, looking surprised.  
"Oh nothing, Mitchell just _happened _to kill our mailman_!_" George says sarcastically, his voice getting louder and higher with every word. Annie gasps and drops her cup.  
"Technically, he was already dead" Mitchell mentions, as he pokes the body on the carpet with his foot.  
"Which of course makes it all better! And what will you say to the police once they found the body? Sorry, officer, but he was already dead, so it couldn't be helped really? I'm sure they'll understand!"  
Mitchell gives him a look that he hopes will get him to snap out from his hysterics. It doesn't, but the waving of his hands gets a little less enthusiastic.  
"Look, we just have to make sure we get rid of the body, okay? It shouldn't be too hard. They do it on tv all the time."  
"Well, yes, but that's in fictionary shows, you know that right?" George asks, his voice slightly calmer.  
"Yes, but they have to get their ideas somewhere right?" Mitchell pulls a little on his gloves while thinking through his options.  
"…On Dexter he cuts the body up and throws the pieces in the ocean." Annie suggests. George gives her a look.  
"And you wouldn't mind cutting up a body with a bloody saw?" He says, looking disgusted. Mitchell thinks about it and realizes that he'd rather not do that himself either.  
"…How about putting him in an acid-bath? Or hide him on the city dump in little bags?" They both stare at Annie. George looks like he's actually going to be sick.  
"What? I like to watch CSI" She says, putting her hands in the air.  
"Let's… let's just bury him in the forest" Mitchell suggests and George agrees enthusiastically.

So that's how they ended up, in the middle of the night, in a forest far from civilization, covered in mud. It had to be raining, of course. Mitchell, who is always pretty cold, is now shivering in his soaked-through clothes. George has even stopped complaining, which feels kind of strange because George_ always_ complain. After a few miles they collapse next to a tree, unable to walk much further without at least a short break.  
"..How do we always end up in this kind of situation?" George says weakly where he's slumped against the tree.  
"I have no Idea" Mitchell laughs, and George joins him a little, before coughing up some mud.  
"That is _disgusting"_ He says as he brushes off the mud on his trousers. Mitchell laughs and tilts his head up against the tree, so that the rain washes his face clean. George gives him a look, then turns his head to the horizon. It is probably past midnight by now, and it will probably be light out when they finally get back to civilization. Mitchell shivers constantly, and George realizes that they'll probably be sitting here for a while, cause his feet feels like a pair of rocks, and refuse to cooperate.  
"Look," He says awkwardly, "It's no use sitting here getting cold we should, you know…" And that doesn't make it sound even more weird. "N-not like that, just" He tries to find words but there really is no non-weird way to say this kind of thing, so he just puts an arm around Mitchell and draws him closer. Mitchell raises an eyebrow at him but says nothing. Mitchell is a little shorter than George, even while sitting down, and somehow Georges hand finds its way into Mitchell's hair. It's soaked, but still nice to touch. Mitchell moves a little closer. Not much, but enough to tell George something. He's not quite sure what but he's suddenly very sure that it _doesn't _mean no. So he touches the hair a little more. There's probably lots of mud in it, and his hands aren't very cleaner, but George can't really bring himself to care.

The rain has probably stopped, but Mitchell has just grabbed his hair and it's too dark too see but George is pretty sure he's being dragged towards Mitchells face and…

He tastes like mud, but George be damned if that isn't the best mud he's ever tasted.


End file.
